She Came Here With Me
by fueledbyglitter
Summary: After the reaping, the new tributes have an hour to say goodbye to their friends and families. One hour. I'll finally get the chance, I think. I'll finally be able to tell her I love her.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is an idea I had while writing the next chapter for From The Ashes, if you guys think it's good, let me know and I'll keep writing this one as well!

* * *

**Chapter 1: **

When I wake up, the sun is streaming in through the window of the room. I sit up in bed, not surprised when I see that Charlie is still asleep and Logan has already gotten up. Charlie has always slept in, and now he could care less about the reaping, he's twenty. Logan is the exact opposite. He's almost eighteen now, but he's never been able to sleep in. Today is no different. I get up and change into work clothes, and walk downstairs to the door that leads to the bakery kitchen. Inside, I find my father.

"Morning, Dad," I say. He looks up from the buns he's been putting into the oven and smiles at me. "Morning, son" he says, rather sarcastically, as it's almost noon. After a quick glance around the kitchen I sigh, relieved to find my mother isn't around. Logan probably went for a walk, as he always does on reaping days. I walk over to the fridge, grab a jar with strawberry jam that doesn't look too old, and reach over to the basket where we keep the stale loaves, the ones my family is allowed to eat.

"Oh, no you don't," my father says, and I look over to him, raising my eyebrows questioningly. As he starts working on a new piece of dough, he nods over to the table, where I now notice, sits what looks like a meat pie and a frosted cupcake. I set down the jam and manage a smile, as I sit down.

"The odds seem to be in your favor today," he says. "Just don't tell your mother," he says, and we exchange a glance as I eat the cupcake first. He knows I won't tell her, so the advice is almost comical. When I was little, he used to sneak a cupcake for me on my birthday and first days of school, always without my mother's knowledge. I really love my father, and I wish I could say the same for her. Sure, she's alright sometimes, but with her you can never be sure if she just hates you or that's just the way she is. She's always said I was Dad's favorite, probably because I'm the one that's most like him. Charlie's never around and Logan has always done exactly what's asked of him, so she says I'm the rebel. Ironic, since I'm probably the most quiet, reserved person you've ever met. Sure I have friends, but I like to keep to myself a lot. That's what I have most in common with my father.

Dad once told me that he'd wanted to marry the Apothecary owner's daughter, but she ran off with a coal miner, and they'd had two daughters. I've only technically met one of them, but I've seen them both around town more times than I could count. I've never had the courage to ask him how he ended up with the bitter woman I have for a mother.

As I take the first bite of the meat pie, I notice the familiar taste. "Squirrel?" I ask my father. He nods. "The Hawthorne boy traded it for a loaf this morning. Looked like he was going hunting." I swallow. "Good for him," I say. "I hope he doesn't get caught by the wrong people." He shoots me a look that clearly says we're not talking just about Gale Hawthorne anymore.

"Look, he says, glancing out of the storefront windows. I stuff the rest of the meat pie in my mouth and stand up to look. "There they are now." I look over across the square, and I see them. Gale Hawthorne, carrying a large bag undoubtedly filled with fresh game, and a few steps behind him, there she is.

Katniss Everdeen. The coal miner's daughter. The girl whose mother my father had wanted to marry. I've been in love with her since I was five years old, since the first time I heard her sing, but I've never talked to her. Only my father and Logan know, as I'd never have the courage to tell my mother I'm in love with a girl from the Seam and Charlie and I just aren't that close.

I watch her walk across the square with Gale Hawthorne to the Mayor's house, her dark hair pulled back into a braid, glinting in the sun. We've only interacted once, years ago, after her father died. She probably doesn't even remember it. As they disappear around the house, I turn to pull a cake from the oven. I always frost one on reaping day, it relaxes me.

As I'm mixing the frosting into a cool shade of blue that mimic the bright day outside, the bakery door opens and in walks Logan. He's a bit taller than me now, but when we were little, people used to think we were twins. Only his green eyes made us different.

"Hey," he says. "Reaping starts a two so I'm going to take a bath." Father and I nod, and I continue frosting the cake, weaving white frosting into clouds. By the time I'm done, there's only about forty five minutes before the reaping starts so I go and bathe. I dress in a white shirt and dark pants, one of Charlie's old reaping outfits. I go back to the kitchen and Mother is back, but she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. We close down and head across the square.

Logan and I sign in and head over to the roped areas for the boys. I'm put in the area for the sixteen year olds and Logan in the one in front of me, for the seventeen year olds. On the rooftops around the square, you can see the cameramen, taping all of this for the Games. In front of us is the stage, and on it are two glass reaping balls, one for the girls and one for the boys, and the podium. In the boys' ball, five slips have _Peeta Mellark _and six have _Logan Mellark_ written on them in careful hand writing. We're pretty safe because we've never had to take tesserae for extra grain and oil, but other kids, particularly the ones from the Seam, have many more. Even so, we agreed when we were little that if either one of us was chosen, the other would volunteer to take his place. It's hard, but that's what brothers do.

I look at the girls' ball. In it, about twenty slips read _Katniss Everdeen. _I know because I've watched her take the three tesserae rations home on the 8th of every month since we were twelve. I'm scared for her, as the odds are most definitely not in her favor.

Behind the balls, there sit Mayor Undersee and Effie Trinket, the escort who's in charge of taking the tributes to the Capitol. This year, her wig is a light shade of blond with a slight tint of pink. Haymitch Abernathy, a middle aged drunk man with ashen hair, District 12's only living victor and mentor to the tributes since I can remember, should be here, but is nowhere to be seen.

I look across the path they've left clear for the chosen tributes to walk over to the podium and find Katniss, wearing a blue dress. Her hair is put up, making an intricate pattern of braids on the back of her head. She glances back, looking towards the twelve year olds. I follow the gaze of her large, grey eyes and see her sister, Primrose. Blonde, blue eyes and small frame, she looks almost exactly like her mother and not at all like Katniss, who sports traditional Seam-grey eyes and dark hair. My father's fond of her because she likes to look at the cakes in the bakery.

Poor thing, she looks downright terrified. She's safe though, as it's her first year and Katniss probably didn't let her take any tesserae.

As the Justice Building clock strikes two, Mayor Undersee steps up to the microphone, welcomes us and begins to read from the same speech on the history of Panem he reads every year. After he reads from the list of our victors (a whopping number of two), Haymitch staggers onstage, clearly drunk, and the crowd applauds. He tries to give Effie Trinket a hug, and the applause turns to laughter. Even I have to stifle a laugh as she straightens her wig. Then the Mayor introduces her and she hops over to the podium on her high heels and gives her ever present cheer, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" Then she begins her signature speech and I spot Katniss looking over at Gale Hawthorne through the crowd. They exchange a glance, then her expression turns grim and they look away. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Onstage, Effie Trinket says "Ladies first!" enthusiastically, steps over to the girls' ball and begins to claw around. I look at Katniss, so desperately hoping that it's not her, that it's not her, that it's not her.

It's so eerily quiet you can clearly hear people breathing and Effie Trinket's heels clacking on the stage as she steps up to the podium. I look over at Katniss again as Effie Trinket reads the name on the paper in a loud, clear voice. And it's not her.

It's Primrose Everdeen.

* * *

I gasp, and so does the entire crowd of people around me. Then the murmuring begins. That's how it always is when a twelve year old gets picked, everyone whispering, talking about the unfairness of it all. Of course it's unfair. But what can we do? We're nothing in the plan of the Capitol. We're just a piece in their Games, to be oppressed and mistreated, and then to watch how they slaughter the weakest of us for the entertainment of those in charge. Primrose Everdeen was as safe as you could possibly get without having your name out of those reaping balls altogether. But it didn't matter.

It's a message, and a very clear one at that. It says: "Look. Look at how we force your children to murder each other and make you watch. And if you try to do anything about it, we'll kill you. Every last one of you. So fast you won't even see it coming."

It's disgusting.

I spot Katniss in the crowd, and I see she's almost toppled over. A boy from the Seam caught her by the arm and she's snapped back to reality. She shakes her head as if to clear it and suddenly lunges forward once she sees her sister walking towards the stage.

"Prim!" She finds her voice. "Prim!"

She begins to run towards Prim, and reaches her just as the younger girl is about to mount the stage. With one clean sweep of her arm, she pushes Prim behind her.

"I volunteer!" she chokes out. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Effie Trinket looks excited at first, then confused. In District 12 there has probably never been a volunteer, so the protocol is a bit rusty. The Mayor intervenes and, shooting Katniss a sympathetic look, allows her to mount the stage.

At this, Prim begins to cry and scream, wrapping her slender arms around her older sister's waist. Katniss struggles for a moment to release herself from Prim's grip, and fails. Out of nowhere, Gale Hawthorne appears and picks Prim off the ground, pulling her off Katniss completely. Prim shows some astounding persistence, and continues to thrash around in Gale's arms. He says something to Katniss, but I don't quite catch it. She nods and mounts the stage.

Effie Trinket congratulates and introduces her, calling for applause, but no one, not a single soul in the entire square and the adjacent streets, claps. The place is silent as a grave, and then, one by one, every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their mouth and extends them to Katniss. I join in, thinking only of one thing as a drunken Haymitch stumbles over to Katniss, attempts to hug her and falls off the edge of the stage, knocking himself out.

After the reaping, the new tributes have an hour to say goodbye to their friends and families. One hour. _I'll finally get the chance,_ I think. _I'll finally be able to tell her I love her._

I'm so immersed in what I plan on saying to her that I don't notice that as Haymitch is taken away, Effie Trinket has walked over to the boys' ball and pulled out a slip of paper. She walks yet again to the microphone and I look over at Logan as she smoothes it out and mouth _Good luck. _Effie reads the name loud and clear.

"Peeta Mellark."

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit._

I can't believe it at first. I think I must've misheard and I'm about to pass out when someone grasps my shoulder. I look to my right and see the Mayor's daughter, Madge. She gives me a smile and the same sympathetic look her father gave Katniss just minutes ago and I finally find the willpower to move my feet and climb towards the stage. As I approach the steps, Effie Trinket reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me over to the podium next to Katniss. She calls for volunteers and I find Logan in the crowd, but he just looks at me, stunned, and shakes his head. _I'm sorry, _he mouthes. I'm so shocked I need to force myself to control my expression. As the mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason, I'm still too out of it to fully grasp what's going on.

Logan broke his promise. He didn't volunteer. My own brother…

The mayor finishes reading and gestures for me and Katniss to shake hands. I look her straight in the eye and she does the same. Her gray Seam eyes. The look exactly the same as they did that day, long ago in the rain. I wonder if she remembers that. _It's okay,_ I think, wanting desperately for her to hear me even though I know she won't and it most certainly will not be okay. _It'll be okay. _I give her hand a squeeze to reassure her just before we break apart and face the crowd as the national anthem plays.

Dad was so incredibly wrong. The odds are nowhere near being in my favor today.

* * *

As soon as the anthem is over, Katniss and I are escorted to the Justice Building. Inside, we're each lead to a different room and left alone. It's a fancy place, with velvet couches and armchairs and cushions made out of a rich fabric I can't even place at first. I sit and stare at the clock on the wall in front of me. It's almost 3:05. I try to focus. _I cannot cry,_ I think. _If I do, everyone will just take me for a weakling. I have to look strong. _

Before five full minutes have passed, the door opens and in comes my father. "You have three minutes," says the Peacekeeper outside. I stand and he hugs me, and before he's even said anything, I'm crying. _So much for being strong. _

"I'm scared, Dad." I manage to choke out after he lets go. He grips me by the shoulders and I'm forced to look into his eyes. His eyes are blue, almost exactly like mine, except for the crinkles in the corners.

"Listen to me," he says. "You're smart. You're strong. Don't let them change you. You go out there and you win this." More tears inevitably pour down my cheeks as I free myself from his grip.

"Dad," I choke. "Be serious. How am I supposed to go out there and kill a bunch of kids I don't know and who are much better trained than me?" My voise is rising in anger. "How am I supposed to kill the girl I love?"

He looks me in the eyes. "You'll do what's right, Peeta. You're a good kid." He takes the ring off his right pinky. It has the initials of me and my brothers on it, _CMLMPM_. My mother gave it to him when I was three. It's the only real gesture of love I've ever seen from her part towards my father.

"Wear this." he says. "Wear it into the arena." I take it and place it on my right ring finger, as it's big on my pinky. The sight of it brings fresh tears to my eyes. "Thanks, Dad," I say. The Peacekeeper opens the door. "Time's up," he says.

"I love you, son," my dad says as he gives me a hug and turns to leave.

"I know, Dad. I love you, too."

The door closes, then opens, and in comes my mother and Charlie. My brother hugs me but she keeps her distance. We stand awkwardly for about thirty seconds before she speaks.

"Well," she says coldly. "Maybe District 12 will finally have another victor."

I look at her for a minute, stunned, not wanting to believe she's talking about me. Charlie stares at her in disbelief, and she shrugs. "She's a survivor, that one. She's not just going to give up." Then she turns and leaves, without so much as looking at me.

Charlie hugs me. "She doesn't mean that, Peeta," he says in his deep voice. "We're all scared for you. But I know you'll do pretty good for a baker's son." Then he leaves also.

My next visitor is unexpected. Gale Hawthorne. I sit on the couch and he takes one of the armchairs. We sit awkwardly for a couple of minutes.

"Why are you here?" I finally say. He looks at his hands.

"I already promised Katniss I'd take care of her family. That's who she really cares about. I don't think she believes for a second she'll get out of this alive," he says. "I know you care about her, too." I look at him questioningly. He shrugs. "I've seen the way you look at her. Before, at school and now, when we're around town. But I need you to promise me something."

"What?" I ask. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"Take care of her," he says. I'm about to say no, but there's so much pain in his voice and eyes that I hesitate.

"Alright," I say. "I promise." Gale gives me what I assume is a grateful smile, shakes my hand and leaves. I'm thinking that maybe, if things were different, we could've been friends.

The next visitor is not only unexpected but unwelcome even. Logan. As soon as he comes through the door, he starts apologizing.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Sorry about what, Logan?" I say, my tone cold and unforgiving. "Sorry that it's not you sitting here, waiting to be whisked away to your death? Sorry it's not the love of your life in the other room, awaiting the exact same fate?" My voice cracks and I'm crying again.

"I was scared, Peeta!" he says defensively. "I was damn scared, alright? When we made that deal we were kids! And then you get picked and I panicked!"

"Just go, Logan," I say, not even wanting to look at him. He sniffles and I notice he's crying, too. "Go." He gets up and goes to the door just as the Peacekeeper opens it.

"Good luck, Peeta," he says.

* * *

The ride to the train station is short, so I have no time to compose myself before getting there. Once we are there, though, the crowd of cameramen and reporters is almost impenetrable. As we walk to the train, I catch a glimpse of Katniss and me on a screen. I'm still crying, but it makes me look pitiful, though my size still makes it hard to consider me a weakling. Katniss however, has much better control of her expression and appears bored, almost.

It makes sense that she act like this. While I can get away with appearing weak and frightened, Katniss, who is barely five foot three, has an athletic yet thin build and an all around appearance of physical vulnerability. She cannot afford to look weak.

Once we're inside, the train moves and Katniss and I look at each other, marveling at the speed of it. At this rate, we'll be in the Capitol by tomorrow morning. The rooms are much fancier than any I've ever seen, topping even the one at the Justice Building. Effie Trinket leads us to our rooms. Each room includes a bedroom, a bathroom with running water and a living area. It seems a little much for less than twenty four hours, really.

Effie tells us to do and wear whatever we want, but that we have to be ready for dinner in an hour. I take of my sweaty and dirty reaping clothes and take a shower. I've never had a shower before, and it takes a few minutes to set the temperature until it's warm enough. The warm, even sprinkle of water calms me and I finally stop crying entirely. After I shower, I find an assortment of fancy clothes in the chest of drawers, but I grab a simple white shirt and light pants. I put my father's ring back on and go down the hall to the dining room. Inside I find Haymitch, pouring himself a drink.

"Ah, hello there," he says, clearly still drunk.

"Umm… Hi," I say. He looks behind me to see if I'm accompanied. "Well," he says as he takes a swig of his drink. "I'm going to go take a nap." He grabs the bottle and leaves the room.

I take a seat at the dark polished wood table covered in a luxurious white tablecloth and set with porcelain dishes, polished silverware and crystal glasses. About ten minutes pass and Effie Trinket shows up, Katniss in tow. Katniss' grey eyes go wide as she takes in the decoration of the room.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks in her usual upbeat, excited tone.

"He left to take a nap a while ago," I reply, and Effie Trinket looks a bit relieved. She tries to hide it though.

Our dinner comes in courses, each richer than the last. Lamb chops, carrot soup, salad, you name it. We even get chocolate cake. Effie Trinket tells us to pace ourselves, but it's not easy. The food is so good and so rich that I can't help but stuff every bit of it in my mouth, plus a few extra pounds wouldn't do me any harm, considering the circumstances. A glance at Katniss proves she's thinking the exact same thing.

Then Effie Trinket makes a comment about our manners and how the kids from last year "ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages". I glance at Katniss and see her staring at Effie in disbelief, her expression filled with rage and disgust. She looks at me and then proceeds to eat the rest of our dinner with her fingers. Once we're done, she wipes her hands on the tablecloth and the look on Effie Trinket's face is so outrageous that I have to stifle a laugh.

After a few minutes though, the subtle rocking of the train plus the quantity of rich food I just ate threatens to make my dinner reappear. Katniss and I glance at each other and again, I know we're thinking the same thing. After a while the feeling passes, and we move to another compartment, where Effie has us watch a recap of the reapings.

The kids this year look stronger, if not more deadly, than they have in a while. The pair from District 1, both blonde, both muscular. Both look extremely happy to have been picked. Typical Career tributes. A redhead from District 5 who bears an amazing resemblance to a fox. The boy from 11, massive and dark skinned. But probably the most deadly looking pair is the one from 2. A monstrous blonde boy, a volunteer, who almost stepped over the others to do so, and a small, dark haired girl, about fifteen, with a face that screams _murder_, who takes her place at the stage with a smug smirk on her pointed, freckled face.

In the end they show our own reaping. Prim being called, Katniss volunteering, the panic in her voice unmistakable. The commentators seemed a bit confused about the crowd's refusal to applaud, but then they're distracted by Haymitch falling comically off the stage. Then I'm called, and I'm relieved you can see no emotion on my face except shock. The anthem plays, marking the end of the program.

Effie Trinket starts to talk about Haymitch, complaining about his lack of finer behavior. Katniss and I laugh it off. He's drunk every year. Every day, for that matter.

"I don't think you should laugh just yet," Effie scolds us. "Your mentor can mark the difference between life and death for you in these Games."

Just then, almost as if on cue, Haymitch stumbles in, drunk, and slurs, "I miss supper?" He tries to regain his balance but just ends up vomiting all over the carpet, then falling unconscious in the mess. Effie Trinket stands up immediately and skips over the puddles of vomit to exit the room.

"On second thought," she calls. "Laugh away!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't know how I did it but I managed to update two of my fics today! Feeling like a total boss right now. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

Katniss and I look at each other. "Effie's right," I say, all previous amusement gone from my voice. "He's all we've got."

"Come on," Katniss replies, and we each grab one of Haymitch's arms and haul him to his room, careful not to breathe through our noses. We put him in the bathtub and turn the water on him, but he doesn't stir.

I offer to take care of Haymitch and Katniss happily accepts the offer, looking relieved. After she leaves, I strip him down to his underwear, let the shower wash the vomit off him, and after, wrap him in a robe and leave him on the bed. When I get back to my room, the train is starting off again after stopping for fuel. As we speed off, I look out the window and see the distant lights of some district. Probably 8 or 9, judging by the time we've been on the train.

I think of home, of my parents, Charlie and Logan. Did they watch the reaping? Probably not. They wouldn't want to relive it. They'll try to get on with things. Try to accept the fact that I'll most likely be dead in a week. I look at the ring my father gave me, the only thing I have to remind me of home. I think of what my dad said. _Don't let them change you. _I know what he meant. All those years of watching the Games, the thing that horrified me the most was how instantly the players changed, morphing into ruthless slaughtering machines. Being just a piece in the Games the Capitol makes us play.

I don't want to end up like that. To become a monster. I don't want to change.

I eventually go to bed, taking a t-shirt and some soft pants from the drawers. The bed is startlingly soft, the sheets made of some sort of silky fabric. I fall asleep almost instantly, and have a surprisingly dreamless sleep, considering the events of the day.

* * *

By morning, I'm being woken by Effie Trinket's voice, enthusiastic and somewhat annoying at this hour. "Up, up up!" she says loudly as she raps on my door. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I hear her walk away, presumably to give Katniss the same upbeat awakening.

I put on the same outfit I had yesterday, as it's not even really wrinkled and walk into the dining car. Inside I find Haymitch, his eyes bloodshot, drinking a cup of coffee, as Effie pours herself one.

"Umm… Good morning," I say. Effie Trinket turns to smile at me. "Good morning!" she says brightly. Haymitch stops sipping from his coffee to shoot me a look.

"Morning," he says, smiling. "Peeta, is it? Thanks for the shower." I sit down awkwardly. Effie walks over to the table, murmuring curses most likely directed at Haymitch, just as Katniss walks in. I grab a roll from a basket, and turn it over in my hands, inspecting the crust. I'm about to dip it into the cup of hot chocolate set before me, per Effie's suggestion, when a server comes over and sets an enormous plate of food before me and the others. I dig in, and we eat quietly for a few minutes. I finally try the hot chocolate, which is actually delicious, and suggest Katniss do the same. She does. In fact, she ignores the rest of the meal until she's drained every drop of it from the cup.

"That was delicious," she says, and gives me a half smile. I smile back. In all the years I've loved her, I've never even really talked to her until this train ride. I should have. I had so many chances, but I never did. I continue to think about it as we finish the meal. Effie excuses herself and I take to dipping bits of roll into more hot chocolate and popping them in my mouth. It's delicious. Haymitch calls for a bottle of wine from the server, and begins to down glass after glass of the stuff.

After a few minutes, I can tell Katniss has had enough of Haymitch's indifference, and she speaks.

"You're supposed to give us advice, you know," she tells him, clearly annoyed.

"Here's some advice," he replies, taking another swig of wine. "Stay alive." Then he bursts out laughing. I'm immediately angered. Does he really not care if we die?

"Yeah, that's very funny," I say, and I knock the glass out of his hand with one swipe of mine. "Only not to us." He stares at me silently for a minute, then punches me in the jaw. The next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my jaw throbbing. Haymitch turns to grab the bottle of wine and refill his glass, but Katniss drives her knife into the table between his and and the bottle, nearly cutting off his fingers. As I sit back down, he leans back in his chair and stares at us.

"What's this?" he says. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I grab some ice from the fruit tureen and raise it to my jaw. Fighting between tributes is forbidden before the start of the games, so I can't let that bruise show.

"Don't do that," Haymitch warns me. "If you let the bruise show it'll say you fought and you were smart enough not to get caught." He turns to look at Katniss, asking her if she can hit anything else with a knife. She shrugs, pulls the knife out of the table and throws it at the wall on the other side of the room, where it lodges between two panels. I stare at her in awe. I knew she could shoot, but this is new.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows in approval. He tells us to stand and examines us. "You're not too shabby," he comments. "Once the stylists do their job you'll be attractive enough."

Neither Katniss nor I make any remark on this. The best looking tributes always pull more sponsors, everyone knows that.

"I'm going to make a deal with you two," Haymitch says finally, and I glance at Katniss. She looks at me, just as curious as I am. "If you don't interfere with my drinking, I'll sober up enough to help you. Just do exactly as I say. And don't question anything."

It's a lot better than five minutes ago, when we were practically at each other's throats.

"Fine," I agree. But Katniss is even more stubborn than Haymitch.

"Help us then," she argues. Then she bombards him with questions of strategy. He holds up his hand to make her stop.

"One thing at a time, sweetheart. We'll get to the Capitol in a few minutes and you'll meet your stylists. You're not going to like it, but you have to do everything they say. No complaining, don't resist."

Katniss immediately begins to object. "Don't resist", he repeats, and she shuts up, obviously not pleased. Just then, the car plunges into darkness as we enter the tunnel through the mountains that surround the Capitol. We stand silently as the train passes through, and as soon as we emerge, both of us run to the windows. The Capitol is magnificent, bright and shiny, with colors that mimic candy and people that look like something from another planet, altered and painted. People begin to point and wave at us and I wave back instantly, thinking of sponsors. If I'm going to keep my promise to Gale and protect Katniss, I have to stay alive. Katniss stares at me until we reach the station.

"Who knows?" I say. "One of them might be rich." She turns to exit the train without another word and I watch her back as she leaves, thinking that even though she doesn't trust me yet, I'm going to do everything I can to save this girl. Even if the cost is my own life.

* * *

I follow Katniss out of the train and directly into the remake center. We're instantly whisked away to separate rooms. The room I'm placed in is completely white, with a large silver table in the center, long enough for someone to lie on. The walls are lined with tempered glass cabinets which I assume are filled with supplies to make us pretty. The door through which I came in slides back in place, blending in entirely with the wall. The floor is tiled, and there is a drain in the center. It makes me wonder if I'm about to be hosed down.

I decide to sit on the table, and after a couple of minutes in trots what could very well be the strangest trio of people I've ever laid eyes on. My prep team. Two women and one man, if you can even call them that, what with the alterations.

One of the women is small and has a loud voice, silver stars tattooed in spirals all over her pale body, which, paired with her bright orange hair, gives off the impression that she's literally from another planet.

The man is thin but muscular and slightly tanned. He's had his tongue surgically altered so that it's split in two and has both parts pierced, along with an array of other piercings and multiple tattoos, topped off with a sort of spiked blue haircut that shoots out of the top of his head, the sides bald.

The last is probably the most normal looking of the three. She's thin but slightly curvy, has hair dyed in different shades of green that falls to her waist in waves. She wears a multitude of rings on her slender fingers, flowers woven into her hair and clothing and speaks with a soft voice, though she has a Capitol accent all the same.

"You must be Peeta!" the redhead exclaims the second they lay eyes on me. "I'm Stella," she says as she shakes my hand enthusiastically.

As much as I've learned to dislike Capitol people, I can't help but like them. "Pleasure," I say, smiling.

"Romulus, it's quite a pleasure to meet you," says the man, also shaking my hand.

"Hello, Peeta," says the last one, giving me a hug. "I'm Athena." She smiles at me rather sympathetically. "We're very sorry this has happened to you."

"Thanks," I say, suddenly intrigued and yet surprised as they begin work on me, first making me strip and then giving me the best (and most painful) scrubbing I've ever had.

Usually people congratulate the tributes, as if being sent to die on national television was some sort of honor, something to be excited about. This tendency is stronger in the Capitol, where people actually view the tributes as things, as pieces of meat, to be carved up and served for their own entertainment. But the three people in front of me meet none of these standards. They actually seem to care about me as they chat with me, asking about my life at home, my friends, family. They make my nails uniform and clean, leave my hands soft and silky, give my hair a trim and then proceed to work on the rest of me.

After scrubbing, exfoliating and waxing every inch of me, Stella pushes a button on the back wall, opening another door which leads to a bathroom with a large tub inside. They fill it with some sort of blue slime and put me in it, also covering my jaw in it.

"It's so the hair won't grow back while you're in the arena," Romulus explains as I wiggle around uncomfortably, though the cool gel is soothing to my raw skin.

"How long will the effect last?" I ask.

"It depends, on your skin type, your genes…" Athena begins to explain. "For some people it even lasts years. But it should last a few months at least."

I sit quietly until they pull me out and hose me down. Then they put me in some sort of giant vent where I'm instantly dried. I'm stark naked and I know I should feel somewhat self-conscious but I don't. It's really as if some dolls were watching me, or some paintings on a wall. I don't really see them as real, tangible people.

"He's ready!" Stella exclaims finally, clapping her hands. "Let's go get Portia!"

They leave me standing there, somewhat cold. I see a robe on a rack in the corner but I think it unwise to put it on. My stylist will just have me remove it anyway to get a good look at me.

After a few minutes, a woman comes in. She's about my height, curvy and tan. Her dark, wild, curly hair falls about mid back, and is pulled back from her face by a headband. She wears a formfitting, one shouldered black dress that falls almost to her knees and heels. S She's quite normal looking, with large dark eyes that seem sincere. I think she must be new to the Games, as most of the stylists are familiar but I've never seen her before. I'm immediately self-conscious and fight the urge to snag the robe and throw it on.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm Portia, your stylist," she says as she circles me, studying my appearance. I can feel my face turning red.

"Hello," I answer. She stands directly in front of me and looks me in the eyes. I notice hers are not black but a very dark shade of brown, framed by long eyelashes. She has a nose ring and a tattoo on her clavicle that says "_specto ad infinitum_". I wonder what it means.

"You have very nice eyes," Portia says, and smiles at me, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. "And a nice ring," she adds, taking my hand to examine my father's ring. I refused to take it off during the remake process. I notice as she does this that her nails are painted a bright shade of turquoise. "Is that your token?"

"Yes, it's my father's," I answer. "A gift from my mother."

"It's lovely," Portia says, running her thumb over the inscription. "What do the letters stand for?"

"They're my initials and both my brothers'. Charlie Mellark, Logan Mellark and Peeta Mellark," I say, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence. My brothers, who I'll most likely never see again.

"It's lovely, Peeta," she says, her voice soft and comforting. "I'm sure they'll all be very proud of you, no matter what the outcome of these Games is." I smile at her gratefully.

"Now," she says, her voice suddenly brisk and rather bossy. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll get down to business."

I do as she says, and she pushes a button in the wall to my right, with leads off into a rectangular room. In it, two red couches sit face to face, a low table in between them. Three of the room's four walls are white, and the fourth, directly in front of the door is glass, so we have a lovely view of the surrounding Capitol. We sit, facing each other, and Portia pushes a button on the corner of the table. Instantly, a full meal comes up as the top of the table splits and a second replaces it. The meal consists of a colorful, tasty looking salad, strips of chicken grilled in a creamy sauce on a bed of rice, mashed potatoes, rolls shaped like a crescent moon and for dessert, chocolate pudding.

Portia asks me about home as we eat, but gets right to the point the minute I'm done with dessert. It's the stylists' job to dictate our looks for the opening ceremony, the parade to the Capitol's City Circle and the interviews. It's tradition that the outfits for the opening ceremony reflect the industry of your District, so Katniss and I'll be dressed in something coal-related.

The costumes our tributes are usually put in are dreadful. Skimpy coal-miners' outfits more often than not. One year was particularly memorable, as our tributes were naked and covered in a sparkly black dust to mimic coal. One of the reasons the District 12 tributes find it so hard to round up sponsors is the fact that they rarely make a great impression at the opening ceremony.

"My partner, Cinna, will be styling your fellow tribute. But as we think the whole coal-miner thing has been thoroughly overdone, we've decided to take a different approach."

"Please, tell me I won't be naked and covered in coal dust," I blurt out, and Portia laughs.

"I promise," she laughs again. "Just answer one question for me, Peeta." The spark of mischief in her eyes scares me more than you will ever know. The corners of Portia's mouth turn upwards as she speaks.

"Did your mother ever warn you about playing with fire?"

After another encounter with my prep team, I'm being lead to the bottom level of the Remake Center by Portia and my prep team, dressed in a one piece outfit that covers me from the neck, to the wrists and ankles, paired with sturdy black boots up to my knees. After Portia's explanation of what the costume really consists in, I think it's safe to say I'm perfectly terrified. The cape that hangs from my shoulders and matching headdress is what we're counting on to make the Capitol audience go wild. Cinna and Portia made a supposedly harmless fire to light us up with. I only hope that the burns won't be too bad. We meet up with Katniss, who I'm relieved to see is as scared as I am about the costumes. She looks gorgeous though, with just the right touch of makeup and her hair braided down her back.

I finally meet the other prep team and Cinna, who is also, to my opinion, way too normal looking to be a stylist in the Games. Then I remember that it was him who came up with the idea to light us on fire and all thought of normalcy concerning the man in gold eyeliner leaves my mind.

We arrive down at the bottom level, which is actually more of a huge stable than anything else. The chariots are here, along with all the other tributes and their stylists. District 1, in jeweled tunics. District 2, gladiators. District 4, fisherman. Standard. We're loaded onto our black chariot as Cinna and Portia check for any flaws as they position us.

"How do you feel about being lit on fire?" Katniss whispers to me.

"I say, I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," I whisper back.

"You've got yourself a deal," she says, her voice shaking. "Have you seen Haymitch?"

"No," I reply, "now that you mention it, he should be here."

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she replies rather dryly, and all off a sudden we both burst out laughing. I don't think I've ever heard her really laugh before, and the sound mesmerizes me. It's musical, almost like singing.

Suddenly, the opening music begins and the massive doors at the other end of the stable open. We can hear the ear-pounding screams of the Capitol's citizens. The tributes from District 1 begin to ride out in their chariot, pulled by a pair of pure white horses. The crowd loves them. The District 1 tributes are always well received. District 2 follows and before I know it, we're next. Cinna appears out of thin air with a torch and ignites our capes and headdresses. I brace myself for the pain, but all I feel is a light tickling.

"It works," he sighs with relief. I finally breathe in freely. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" he exclaims, and hops off the chariot. At the last minute, Cinna turns and shouts something. At first I can't make out what he's saying, then he repeats himself and gestures.

"What did he say?" Katniss asks me. I look at her and for a minute I'm stunned by how beautiful she looks under the light of the fake fire.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I stammer, and take her right hand in my left. We look to Cinna and he gives a thumbs up just as we exit the doors.

The crowd is initially stunned, but soon all the cheers around us turn to "District 12!" Every person lining the streets is looking at us, completely forgetting about the other eleven chariots in front of us. I feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins as Katniss and I gain confidence and begin waving at the crowd. Her hand is small and soft in mine, and I don't have any intention of letting go. She attempts to loosen her grip, but I don't let her.

"No, don't let go of me," I tell her. "Please. I might fall off this thing."

"Okay," she says, smiling at me. I'm completely dazed by this girl and for one complete moment of madness, I think getting reaped was the best thing that ever happened to me.

The chariots begin to loop around the City Circle. President Snow begins his speech and I see us on the screens that Katniss and I are getting almost all the air time. The fire in our costumes makes it impossible to ignore us as the sun sets. Then the anthem plays as we loop around the City Circle one more time and enter the Training Center. We get off the chariot and I notice the other tributes shooting us murderous looks (no pun intended) as Portia extinguishes our costumes.

Katniss and I realize our hands are still linked and awkwardly release each other.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," I say as I massage my hand. "I was getting a little shaky there." I laugh nervously and she smiles.

"It didn't show," she says. "I'm sure no one noticed."

I smile at her gratefully. "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," I say. "They suit you." I smile at her, as best as I can without giving away how nervous she makes me, She looks at me for a minute, as if she's deciding if she wants to trust me or not. Then, she stands up on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. I feel the spot burn in contact with her lips. Fire does suit her quite well.


End file.
